Sandcastles
by bompeii
Summary: Shawn thought of Juliet's smile across the picnic table while they shared ice cream, thought of their talks about the future while playing on the beach. She laughed as the cool spray of the ocean splashed her face and the sun warmed her freckled skin. He thought of the waves rolling over her, of the water taking on a disturbing stillness ... of how Jules never came out again.


**Sandcastles**

He was cut off from the world as the wave crashed down upon him, blocking out the sounds of shrieking birds. The other kids on the beach were gone, out of sight but not out of mind. Though he couldn't see her, he knew his mother was sitting on the shore in her purple sundress, waiting.

For a second, there was simply the silence of the deep. Then, the wave gave Shawn back to the universe, gasping for air. Nothing seemed to have changed since he went under. Nothing had moved. He noticed this as he pulled himself out of the water.

Shawn ran up the beach, kicking sand behind him and feeling the grains cling to his wet feet and ankles. His mother stood when he drew near and pulled out a blue, fuzzy towel, swabbing him down. "Let's dry you off, Goose," she said sweetly, a soft smile on her face.

He didn't look at her much more than a quick glance. He was too busy watching the sun burst out from behind a small cloud. Heat radiated all over his body, sending a shiver down his spine.

"You want to put on your sweater?" asked his mother, noting the salty wind blowing in their faces. Shawn shook his head.

"I like the breeze," he said. "It gives me goose bumps." He thought he could get away with it, but one stern look had him struggling to get the shirt over his head.

It was September in Miami, Florida, where the Spencer family was having a little eastern shore vacation. The month was coming to an end, however, and so was their retreat. The beach seemed lonely and empty, the sand stretching for miles with only five or six people occupying it. Some kids nearby were bouncing a colorful ball back and forth, but they stopped with a sullen look upon their faces. It was as if the wind brought sadness with it, whistling the way an old man would on his last days. So the kids sat down and waited for summer to come to its end.

All of the hotdog stands were closed, the frozen yogurt shops boarded up with wooden planks like the kind Shawn saw on the haunted (Gus says it's just abandoned) house a few blocks away from their school.

The wind picked up and blew across the beach, wiping away any evidence that humans, adults and children alike, ever touched the sand. Millions of footprints from July and August disappeared in an instant. Now the only feet still around to leave marks on the shore were Shawn's.

The young boy sighed. Everyone else was in school, including Gus. This was the only time Shawn's dad could get off from work, and it was just for a couple of weeks. Tomorrow, he and his parents would be on a plane heading back to the west coast. His mother had taken him to the shore for one last brief visit.

There was something about the vacant atmosphere that made Shawn want to be by himself. "Mom, I'm gonna run down the beach a little," he said, a question for permission hidden inside his words.

"Okay, but hurry back, and stay away from the water!"

Shawn took off at a sprint, spreading his arms out at his sides and wishing the wind would lift him off the ground. In that moment, he wished he had wings that could take him way up into the sky, where he could hide within the clouds and bathe in the sunlight forever. He would never have to go back to school.

Alas, he would miss his mother too much. Gus, too, and – reluctantly – his father as well.

With his mother's figure now far withdrawn into the distance, Shawn was alone. He slowed his feet to a moderate pace and walked, breathing in deep to slow his heart. Being alone was new for him, even as a twelve-year-old boy. If he wasn't with his mother, then he was with Gus, or his father, or the teachers, or the school bullies. He was so used to people around that the only way he could really be alone was inside his own mind. Now, though, he was really, physically by himself. It was … intriguing.

Making sure he was out of sight of his mother, Shawn went down to the water and let it wash up against his bare feet. Before, with the crowds and his family lurking about, he didn't dare come to this part of the beach – he didn't even dare to look in its direction. For when he did, he was overcome with the urge to search the water, to seek out a certain name that had settled on the tip of his tongue for the last six days.

Now that he was alone, he allowed himself his yearning and called out her name. A dozen times he shouted, each one louder than the last.

" _Juliet!"_

He expected an answer, as most kids his age did when they yelled. If it wasn't a reply, it was a chastisement for being so unnecessarily loud.

Nobody answered this time.

Shawn thought of Juliet, a sweet girl that was just a little younger than him. She swam out into the water almost a week ago with her pretty blond pigtails trailing behind her. She laughed with glee as the cool spray splashed her face and the sun warmed her freckled skin. Shawn thought of the waves rolling over her, and the water taking on a disturbing stillness. He thought of the lifeguard leaping into the quiet sea, of Juliet's mother screaming and crying, and of how Jules never came out from under those waves.

The lifeguard's face was desperate as he searched, calling her name, trying to persuade her to reappear. She did not. He returned with a handful of seaweed and nothing else.

Juliet would no longer smile across the picnic table at Shawn while they shared ice cream, or talk about their dreams of the future as they played on the beach. She wanted to be a superhero. Shawn, at this point in time, wanted to be a pirate. He thought they would lead very interesting lives indeed.

But Juliet swam too far out, and the ocean refused to release her. Now Shawn was wishing he was the superhero, so he could dive under the sea and find her in a millisecond, and she would cough for a little bit but open her eyes, and everything would be like it was before.

Shawn called her name again.

The wind blew across his face more viciously than before, whipping his hair across his eyes and stabbing them like needles. The waves grew stronger and washed up to his knees, making him stumble backwards in the soft sand. He barely took notice.

"Jules! Please … come back, Juliet!"

Shawn was twelve, and he had only known her for a week, but he knew how much he loved her. It never really crossed his mind that what he felt for her was love until the day after she was gone. There was an emptiness inside of him that wasn't there before, some sort of gaping hole that made his chest ache whenever he took a breath. The ache faded after a little while, but not the sense of being … vacant.

Juliet had made those seven days feel as long as years, and upon meeting him, she had acted like they had known each other forever. Unlike every other girl he's come across, he was kind to her. He was a friend to her, and she smiled at him at every opportunity she had.

" _Juliet!"_

The boy called her name for the final time, gasping for air and shivering in the breeze. He tasted salt on his lips and felt dampness on his face, but he did not know how it got there. The waves had not splashed that high.

Spinning around, Shawn walked out of the water's greedy grasp and up the beach, where a tiny cove surrounded by large rocks seemed to be waiting for him. He sat in the sand and set his face upon his tanned arms, remembering every moment, every touch, every word she said to him. He remembered everything, and his heart swelled with hope that he might see her again, somehow. One glimpse was all he needed – just a sign that she would always exist in this world.

Then Shawn got an idea. He fell forward on his knees and began to shift the sand, to shape it. He made a sandcastle, building it with smooth sides and little indents for windows. He put ridges on the top, just as Jules always did whenever they had sandcastle competitions in the late afternoons. She also liked to poke a twig in the center of her tallest tower for a makeshift flag. Shawn observed, and remembered. She always built them the same.

So he built her a sandcastle. Only he stopped halfway through, leaving the stubby twig flag next to the unfinished structure. Pushing himself to a stand, Shawn faced the sea.

"Jules, if you can hear me … come and build the rest."

This time, he did not wait for an answer. He walked off the way he came, retracing his steps until he caught sight of his mother again. Gradually she grew larger in his vision, but he glanced behind himself at what he was leaving behind. The water swelled within the teeny cove, beating against the castle's weak, grainy walls.

Piece by piece, it crumbled.

He turned away in silence.

In the distance, the soft jingle of an ice cream truck carried faintly across the beach. Shawn thought he heard his name within the tune, and he looked up expectantly. But it was only the wind.

The next day, Shawn was on a plane with his parents, staring out the thick-paned window at the clouds below. They crossed the entire country in a matter of hours, coast to coast. It was almost too quick for such a long distance, Shawn thought. He blinked, and they had crossed over Mississippi. He took a quick nap, and Texas was already behind them. A packed lunch and half a coloring book later, they arrived back in Santa Barbara.

Time, like flight, was equally as swift, the transitions from child to teenager to adult as gradual and unforeseen as the state lines.

Shawn grew taller, filled his body with muscle, exchanged his mind for a wiser one upon graduation, tossed out clothes that no longer fit and replaced them with a blue uniform that sparked pride in his father's eyes, and combed his hair to perfection. It was such hair that first grabbed the attention of a young woman he used to go to school with – a beautiful brunette named Abigail. They were together for about a year before marriage entered the picture. Gus was the best man, of course; they never did stray from one another.

The Spencers were the typical police officer/school teacher couple, and by the age of 25, Shawn had almost forgotten what happened back East.

Of course, he could never truly forget, but he lived his time in the present to the fullest and chose to ignore the nagging memory in the back of his mind.

Abigail suggested their honeymoon, which had to be delayed due to some work interruptions, be taken back in that direction. She'd never been to Florida, and Miami Beach was one of many on her traveling wish list. She was always jealous that Shawn got to go as a child, though Shawn never did tell her the full story.

He hadn't been on a plane since returning from that trip, when he was a mere boy of twelve and felt a heavy weight upon his heart. As time went on and he grew older, the weight gradually lifted, but now this single plane ride was undoing what thirteen years had struggled to knot away. Glimpses of the past flooded Shawn's perfect recall, but he blinked them away and blamed his quiet behavior on airsickness when asked.

Abigail clutched his arm as they waited for their luggage at baggage claim, her head resting lazily on his shoulder. She really looked beautiful in the sunlight, he thought, and told her as much, earning a kiss.

They stayed for two weeks, revisiting all the old places Shawn had bragged about in younger days. Good memories spurred amongst the tainted ones, and though time had aged the land, it still felt the same beneath his feet.

Yet it all still felt like echoes. Shawn walked by a picnic table, the wood pale and rotting, and his memory assaulted him with the smell of barbeque on a grill from long ago. They passed a playground, and he could hear the metallic squeaking of the swings and high laughter on the wind. But when he dared to look, they were empty. Still.

He walked, Abigail by his side. He walked and looked and heard and _remembered._

He did his best to be happy. He thought he loved Abigail enough to give her that.

It was the second to last day when they strolled down to the shore. It was late July now, nowhere near the lull of activity that September would bring. But the crowds were still thinning, the first stages of autumn desertion taking effect. As early evening settled, the great expanse of cooling sand stretched before him and his bride.

It all felt exactly the same – the grains beneath his bare feet, the salty wind upon his face, the sound of waves a constant music in the background. Shawn could've sworn he heard his mother calling for him to put on a sweater.

He had that melancholic feeling once more, of wanting to be alone as he never was. But he couldn't say such a thing to Abigail, not when this trip was about them both. Togetherness. Instead, he clutched her hand in his and they walked, their feet sinking into the pillow-soft ground with every step. They barely spoke a word.

A small lifeguard boat, red and white with a blinking light on the bow, pulled up to the sand from the distant waves. Only then, in that moment, did Shawn realize he had been waiting for it. In some ways, he'd been waiting for the last thirteen years.

The sun was low in a bruising sky. The boat drifted in to the shore and dragged to a slippery stop. The lifeguard stepped out slowly, a slightly older man with streaks of grey in his hair. He cradled something to his chest with a cautious gentleness.

And suddenly Shawn was twelve years old again, five feet tall and breathlessly afraid. The wind picked up to a howl, and Abigail was no longer there. Nor was the beach, the rocks, or the stragglers who stayed late to watch for dolphins out at sea. Their forms were a watery blur in the corners of his mind. All he could see was the boat, the lifeguard, and the light sack in his hands. It didn't seem to weigh anything, and one might've believed it were insignificantly empty if the guard's face were not equally as pale and furrowed.

"Stay here, Abby," Shawn said, quietly. He's not sure why.

"What?" she asked, her voice sounding hollow to his ears. "Shawn … where are you going?"

"Just … stay here. Please. I'll be right back."

She didn't protest further, and she didn't follow him as he made his way to the boat. The lifeguard looked up as he came closer.

"What is it?" Shawn asked.

The guard was silent, blinking owlish eyes that gleamed in the sunset. He opened his mouth once, twice, but remained speechless. With that same gentleness as before, the man crouched down and settled the grey sack into the sand at his feet.

"Well?" Shawn insisted. "What … what is it?"

He needed to ask. He needed an answer. He needed to hear the words.

He already knew. He always did.

"Weird," the lifeguard spoke, at last. "Weirdest thing I ever saw. She's been dead a long while."

Shawn waited, his breath twisted into a knot in his throat.

"More than ten years, I'd reckon," the older man went on, scratching the back of his head and staring at the bag in wonder. "Twelve, maybe."

"Thirteen."

He glanced up. "What's that?"

"Thirteen years, ten months, and seventeen days," Shawn supplied, his memory whipping into action like a ripcord, unveiling a parachute of information collected subconsciously all this time.

The man stared at him with something akin to confusion, or worry, but slowly nodded his head. "Something like that, I'm sure. No kids drowned 'round these parts since the eighties. All their bodies were recovered within a few hours, though. Except for one, if I recall." He stared at the bag again with a quiet sigh. "Thirteen years in the water. She's … it ain't pretty."

Shawn followed his gaze and swallowed something sour. "Open it," he said, the command coming from nowhere and from deep within. He needed to see.

The guard hesitated, biting his lip. "I'd best not…" he trailed off, but at the look on Shawn's face he hurried on. "It's just – she was such a small thing…"

 _She's not a thing._

"Open it," Shawn repeated, his voice so quiet it was lost behind the ringing in his ears.

This time, the guard did. He parted the top halfway. That was enough.

Shawn looked at her. He looked, and he saw, and at the same time he could see what she was before. Her blonde hair and vibrant eyes. Her wonderful smile. A perfect memory of her, all those years ago, cast across her silent form in an ethereal overlay.

People grow. It was a fact of life, of living. Shawn has grown a dozen times over, changed in several little ways until he was the man he was today, but she has not changed. She is still young, still small. Death does not permit change or growth. It is permanence.

In this moment of clarity, Shawn felt something awaken inside his heart that he had thought dead as well: youthful love that had never truly faded away. Perhaps he would always love her.

After a minute or so, Shawn realized he'd been saying something over and over again, under his breath. A name.

The lifeguard must have heard, for he was looking at Shawn with a pinched brow.

"Where did you find her?" Shawn asked.

"In the shallows, over that way." The guard pointed down the shoreline, towards a collection of large rocks in the distance. He looked back at Shawn with a soft understanding. "You knew her?"

Shawn didn't answer. He was still staring at the rocks, tall and somber around a tiny cove and hiding an old hope long since abandoned.

The lifeguard tied up the bag again as Shawn started away. He went towards the rocks, his stride much longer than the last time he wandered this same path. It only took a couple of minutes to cross the distance.

At the entrance to the cove, he stopped. He looked. He saw.

There was a hollow impression left in the sand, indistinct in shape and mostly worn away by the waves. _This is where the lifeguard found her_ , Shawn thought to himself.

Next to it, further from the water's edge, was a sandcastle. Smooth sides. Tiny indents for windows. Ridges on the top. It was only half-built, and out from the top of the tallest tower stood a twig. Thin and crooked and territorial. Juliet's flag.

Shawn stared at it a long time, frozen in place. His heart beat a wild tattoo inside his chest, but he didn't feel scared. He stepped forward and knelt beside the castle, where he noticed a line of smaller imprints curving behind the tower. Footprints, coming from the ocean and going back into the water, and not reappearing.

He trailed the pattern with his eyes, and blinked.

"I'll help you finish it," he said.

When he was done, and the castle was complete in all its grainy glory, the footprints had already washed away. Shawn took one last sweeping glance, then stood and walked slowly back the way he came. This time he did not look back, for he did not want to watch it crumble, as he knew it would. Like this, the castle would be permanent and forever whole in his memory, never to fall.

The sun was sinking now, casting pinkish hues across the darkening horizon. Up ahead by the boardwalk stood a stranger named Abigail, waiting for him. Smiling.

* * *

This story was strongly inspired by the short story "The Lake" by Ray Bradbury. I read it once in college and started writing this parallel, but only just now finished it (four years later).

Characters and plot do not belong to me. Just the occasional metaphor.


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